


Regret

by butterflyslinky



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen, I'm Sorry, Thranduil's A+ Parenting, Unhappy Ending, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 17:41:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4230900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflyslinky/pseuds/butterflyslinky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Erebor fell, Thorin learned something about the King of Mirkwood he wished he hadn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regret

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for a kink meme prompt here: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/11476.html?thread=24068564#t24068564

The first time Thorin went to Mirkwood, it was as a very young dwarf, barely in his twenties, by all accounts still a child but allowed to accompany his father to the forest in an effort to help the children of Erebor become good allies to the elves.

It was a beautiful place, all light and trees, but Thorin found that he didn’t really care for it. It was too different from the stone and jewels he had grown up with, too far from the forges and security that Erebor brought him.

Of course, it didn’t help that the Elf King wasn’t the most pleasant of souls. Oh, he was polite enough, all cold eyes and perfunctory smiles, but Thorin distrusted him from the beginning. Still, he was here to foster relationships, not end them.

Not that Thorin was expected to sit in boring meetings and make trade agreements and peace treaties and whatever else the grown-ups got up to. Indeed, he was given liberty to wander the castle to his heart’s content, and he did just that. After all, even if it wasn’t a grand as his mountain, there was still plenty to explore.

Which was why he was the one to hear the muffled sobbing coming from a closed door high in the castle. Thorin frowned, wondering what could be causing such a sound, and being an ever-curious dwarf, he decided to find out.

The cries and whimpers were loud enough to mask the sound of the door opening a crack, which was lucky, because Thorin knew that if he was caught, it would be very, very bad. This became even clearer when he located the source of the noise.

Thranduil stood inside, his back to the door, his hand wrapped around the throat of another elf, who Thorin remembered as being Thranduil’s son—what was his name? Legolas? Yes, that sounded right. Thranduil had Legolas pinned against the wall with one hand, the other coming down, hitting the young prince again and again. Thorin could already see one eye blackening and blood pouring from a number of cuts on the elf’s face.

With every hit, Legolas whimpered or cried out, and with every cry the hand around his throat tightened. Thorin wasn’t sure how long elves could go without breathing, but he knew that this was bad. Very, very bad. Why was Thranduil purposefully hurting his own son? Had the boys done something wrong? But no, in all their interactions, Legolas had seemed like a pleasant sort, if a bit quiet. Well, this explained why.

Thorin knew that he should leave, that he should disappear into another room and forget what he’d seen, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t bring himself to look away as Thranduil threw his son to the ground. Legolas moved to get away, but then Thranduil was on him again, straddling the boy’s waist and hitting him, in the face, in the throat, in the chest…

It was only when a pair of pained blue eyes turned to the door and met his that Thorin gasped and hastily ran away.

If Thranduil noticed the young dwarf was quieter than usual that night, he made no mention of it. Thrain asked once if Thorin was all right, but Thorin just said he was tired and wished to retire early. This explanation was accepted readily enough.

But throughout the rest of their stay in the Greenwood, Thorin would go back to that high room every afternoon when the meetings were done and just listen. He couldn’t bring himself to look again, but he had to know what was happening. Sometimes, he heard Legolas’s cries and pleas, the sounds of Thranduil beating the boy mercilessly. Other times, the room was silent and Thorin would slip away after a moment of waiting.

When the dwarves left the forest, Thorin wasn’t sure if he should be relieved that he was away from Thranduil and the horrors of that place, or frightened for the life of the golden-haired prince who bore the brunt of his father’s anger.

*

The second time Thorin went to Mirkwood was a century and a half later, after his people had been driven from Erebor and he was determined to reclaim it. They were lost, and hungry, and exhausted after fighting off giant spiders, so when the elves descended on them, Thorin was completely done.

Until he looked up at the one with an arrow pointed directly in his face and froze when he recognized Legolas.

Thorin stayed quiet while the company was searched and stripped of all their weapons, his mind reeling. Legolas’s face was hard, his eyes deep with a sorrow that Thorin had only seen in Mirkwood before. The elf seemed resigned when he told his guards to take the dwarves to his father, and Thorin had the feeling that the prince’s situation had not improved much since they had last met.

The others were thrown into the dungeons, but Legolas took Thorin directly to his father. Thorin glared up at the Elf King, not only for his transgressions toward his people, but for the fear he caught in Legolas’s eyes when Thranduil look at him.

He refused the deal Thranduil offered. Simple, sure, and those diamonds were hardly a dent in the treasure of Erebor, but Thorin would not make deals with such a man. After all, if he could treat his own flesh and blood with such contempt, how could Thorin trust him to uphold his end of the bargain?

Thranduil ordered Legolas to take Thorin away and then return to the hall. Legolas choked back a sob, but he obeyed and led Thorin out of the hall.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Thorin moved closer to the prince. “You don’t have to do this,” he said quietly. “You could let us go.”

Legolas glared at him. “And what’s in it for me if I do?” he asked. “My father would never forgive such disloyalty.”

“Disloyalty?” Thorin repeated. “You still have regard for that…that…” He couldn’t find the correct word for Thranduil. Somehow, every curse he knew was inadequate.

Legolas’s brow furled at the words. “I remember you,” he said slowly. “From before…you came to the Greenwood once…” He looked into Thorin’s eyes. “You were the boy who opened the door.”

“Yes,” Thorin said. “I know what he did to you…what he’s still doing to you, unless I misread the situation back there.”

“You didn’t say anything.”

“What would I have said?” Thorin asked. “He was the king, and my host. I could hardly speak against him back then, and even if I had said something, who would have believed the dwarven brat over the King?” He looked imploringly at Legolas. “But I can help you now. Let us go. Let us retake the mountain. Let us slay the dragon and rebuild our kingdom.”

Legolas took a shuddering breath. “I can’t,” he whispered. “If I were to help you, it wouldn’t just be pain—it would mean my death.”

Thorin nodded sadly. “Then know this, Legolas Greenleaf,” he said. “Should you ever find a way to leave, once we have escaped—and we will escape—you will always be welcome in my kingdom.”

*

They did escape, thanks to the ingenuity of their burglar, and Thorin was not surprised to see Legolas on the bank, running after them, but not trying to drag them back—no, Legolas only cut down the orcs to keep them alive.

Perhaps it was gratitude, or maybe it was pity, but Thorin made sure to kill the orc that got closest to the elf prince. It was the least he could do. The boy had suffered enough.

The last time he saw Legolas was in the battle, a flash of gold below him, fighting the orc who had killed his nephew, and Thorin knew that no matter how long he lived, he would never be able to repay this elf. He would never be able to take the sting away. He had failed to save him. He would always fail.

Yet Legolas threw Orcrist up to him. Legolas continued to fight, continued to stand up against those who would harm him. Even as he fought, Thorin would never have that sort of strength.

And as he lay dying, as he begged his Hobbit for forgiveness, his mind turned to the frightened blue eyes, to the disheveled golden hair, to the bruises and blood and the screams, and Thorin wished he could have done more.


End file.
